


Tracks and a Minibot

by Anonmemeproject



Series: Transformers Anon Kink Meme - non sticky fills [4]
Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Complete, Oral Sex, Other, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-12
Updated: 2019-11-12
Packaged: 2021-01-29 05:24:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21404905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonmemeproject/pseuds/Anonmemeproject
Summary: Tracks and a MinibotBy AnonymousPublished: July 22 2009Tracks is on a dare from Sunstreaker that he has to overload a minibot (someone other than Bumblebee) only using his glossa (tongue)Sunstreaker as a voyeur.
Series: Transformers Anon Kink Meme - non sticky fills [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1542844
Kudos: 8





	Tracks and a Minibot

**Author's Note:**

> Link to fill: https://tfanonkink.livejournal.com/1174.html?thread=379798#t379798

“I am not!” 

Tracks felt pure rage coil through his systems at Sunstreaker's sneer. The pretty-bot had DARED call him a “fleshbanger”, a crude, badly translated word the Autobots had for one of their own that was a bit... too smitten with an organic friend. The term was derogatory, dirty and uncouth, and Tracks barely had the willpower to keep him from striking Sunstreaker in the face. His fists clenched, his shoulder struts shook, and his optics were beginning to short from his systems redlining. 

“I dunno...” Sunstreaker purred. “That human boy s-”

“You leave Raoul out of this!” Tracks nearly shouted, barely keeping a reign on his vocalizer. “He's a perfectly respectable young man!”

“A 'perfectly respectable young man' who hand washes you every time he sees you for free.”

“It's called 'being friends', for your information.” Tracks felt a low, decidedly un-Autobot sense of joy in cutting into Sunstreaker's ego. “If anyone but your brother could stand your presence for more than 5 minutes, you might understand.”

As expected, Sunstreaker stiffened, smile leaving his face immediately. “You take that back.”

“I'd bet my skid plate you couldn't even get a bot to hold your hand, much less wash your in your vehicle mode.”

“Deal.”

That was not a response he was expecting. “Excuse me?”

The Lamborghini straightened his stance, hands on his hips and chest out. “I take that bet. I get a mech to wash my vehicle mode-”

“Other than Sideswipe. Within a month.” Tracks interjected. 

“A month... sounds good.” Sunstreaker smiled again. “A mech other than Sideswipe washes me within the month, and I get your skid plate.” The smile turned dark and knowing. “For a whole night.”

It figured. If Sunstreaker was known for anything other than his battle lust, it was his normal lust. Still, Tracks felt comfortable betting his body in this scenario. There was no way Sunstreaker would win. “Dea-”

“Counter bet.” Sunstreaker spoke so fast Tracks had no choice but to listen. “I dare you to overload another bot-” A flash of inspiration shone in his face. “- a Minibot, within the same month.” Another flash crossed his optics. “With your tongue.”

Silence followed. Tracks, stunned, rebooted his vocalizer and struggled to think of a suitable prize to claim, one that would leave Sunstreaker hurt and humiliated...

“If I win...” Tracks spoke slowly, testing his boundaries. “You trade rooms with me for... 5 days.”

There was fear on Sunstreaker's optics, and that alone was worth the whole Primus-forsaken idea. The fear was gone quickly, though, as Sunstreaker's confidence took over his processor. “Deal.”

Tracks turned to leave, done talking to Sunstreaker and making a beeline to- 

“And it can't be Bumblebee!”

An undignified noise came from Track's vocalizer. “What? Why?”

Sunstreaker had gone.

It made sense in retrospect. Everyone liked Bumblebee. Tracks, while trying to make his selection, realized that fairly quickly. Mostly because every single other Minibot was such a grate on the sensors it made Bumblebee look like a saint by comparison. He also realized fairly quickly that this was going to be very, very hard. While going over his normal routine in his head, Tracks tried to find a way to transcribe everything he normally did with his hands into his mouth. His tongue would go numb after a few minutes at that rate. 

It was just the first day, though, out of 31... 30? What month was it? February. It was just the first day out of 28, he would be all right. He just needed to find a Minibot he didn't hate. 

Tracks sat in the mess hall, nursing his energon and letting his optics float between Beachcomber and Warpath. Warpath was a good mech, speech impediment aside. That would be tricky to ignore, undoubtedly, and Tracks didn't like to mute his audial receptors during sex. Beachcomber was also nice, but he had heard that the Minibot was a terrible lover. Unresponsive, the gossip had said. On that note, neither one of the two seemed to have noticed that Tracks was sizing them up, and that was a big part of the process; if they weren't into the idea, Tracks wasn't about to force them. He was proud, but not pushy. (The same could not be said for Sunstreaker, who was trying to force his way into Trailbreaker's conversation.)

The door opened, and out of desperation, Tracks looked to see who it was.

Cosmos. As if The Matrix itself opened up, Tracks sat up straight in his chair and grinned. Cosmos, of all bots, deserved a good, hard overload. He had probably just come back from an ungodly long mission all alone out in space, cold and hungry and lonesome. It would be easy, Tracks thought, before squashing that very idea out of his CPU out of disgust in himself. Sure, it was a bet, but he was doing it for Cosmos now. 

Primus was undoubtedly favoring him today, because Cosmos caught Tracks' happy gaze and returned it, racing for his energon cube and immediately joining him at his table.

“Hi, Tracks!” Cosmos parked himself close to Tracks, eagerly inching closer. “Is there something you want?” 

The Firebird chuckled warmly and pulled Cosmos to his side. “Why, you, my dear bot.”

&&&

On the way back to his room, Tracks hadn't seen any problem in telling Cosmos the details of his sudden interest. Cosmos was engaged in the conversation, nodding intently and adding his own little noises of understanding. Even as the Firebird started complaining of the mechanics of his bet, Cosmos' optics brightened in anticipation, hands twitching expectantly. 

“- to do, and I'm certain my tongue would go numb after a period-”

“Maybe!” Cosmos shouted, eager to interrupt. He ducked a bit, head tucking into his body in embarrassment, before speaking again. “Maybe, maybe if, oh gee, maybe if we, um, we can put energon, mayb-”

“Cosmos, are you suggesting I lick energon off your chassis?” giggled Tracks. “You dirty little machine!”

The resulting fit of laughter was as much of an affirmative as he was going to get, so Tracks led Cosmos into his room by the hand and locked the door behind him. He felt wonderfully warm, a giddy sort of happiness that he felt when he was a young thing being brought to (for lack of a better word) the carnival. Cosmos' obvious glee, the anticipation of a good overload, the even greater anticipation for the look on Sunstreaker's face all compounded into a wonderful, aching throb in Track's laser core.

Grabbing a paintbrush and an energon cube from his subspace, Tracks motioned for Cosmos to jump on his bed. “Would you like me to do your mouth first?”

“... I don't have a mouth,” admitted Cosmos. 

“Aw...” Tracks moaned in earnest disappointment. “I thought it was removable like Prime's.”

“No.”

“Oh well...” Quickly, Tracks dipped the brush and painted a tiny smile on Cosmos' face. “Now you do.”

Cosmos giggled, and Tracks resumed his painting. After a few minutes, Cosmos was laid out on his back, bright pink with a thin coating of energon. Tracks curled up on the foot of the berth, head in his hands, surveying his handiwork. A quick lick of his lips made Cosmos turn his head, embarrassed.

Sitting up on his knees, Tracks took Cosmos' right leg in his hands and began to lap up the energon. He took his time, starting at Cosmos' shin and making broad strokes with his whole tongue. Cosmos sighed and melted in his hands, totally relaxing under the treatment. It wasn't until he dipped the tip of his tongue into the seam of his ankle did Cosmos make a sound. The shuttle made a soft coo, arching his shoulders off the bed just a foot. 

“Was that good?”

“Oh, very...” 

“I'm glad.” Tracks ran his tongue along the other side of Cosmos' foot and kissed his ankle, picking up the other leg to repeat the procedure. “The energon's not uncomfortable, is it?” 

Cosmos squirmed, trying to concentrate. “I-it's getting a little cold.”

“Mm. I'll make sure to warm you up, dear bot.”

Tracks finished the other foot and began to suckle his way up to the juncture of Cosmos' legs when someone outside ran into the door. The two bots jumped and looked up.

“Sorry, you can't come in right now,” Tracks called. “Come back in a few hours.”

Retreating footsteps. Tracks sighed, mumbled a few things about how rude whoever that bot was to himself, and attached his mouth to Cosmos' shoulder. 

“Hey! What-”

“I'll get back to your legs.” 

Taking one of Cosmos' hands, Tracks gently ran the tip of his tongue up and down the shuttle's little finger. He took the digit into his mouth and nursed it, cradling the tiny little finger in his tongue. He made an effort to drool a little, to make his sucking just a bit more prominent. Cosmos purred and wriggled at his knees. He repeated this treatment with every finger, letting the saliva roll out of the corner of his mouth for Cosmos' viewing pleasure. By the time Tracks reached the other hand, Cosmos was starting to honestly moan in sheer pleasure. 

“How are you holding out, Cosmos?”

“Ooh-ho-hoooh...” 

“You're almost all clean.” Tracks gently lapped up the energon from Cosmos' “mouth”, giving him as much of a kiss as he could .”Too bad. We'll have to do this again, Cosmos.”

“Please?”

“Of course.” 

Tracks blew a soft puff of warm air over Cosmos' chest and suckled his chest, dipping his tongue into every little crack and crevice he could find. Cosmos' arms wrapped around his head, petting him softly. He didn't even bother lapping up the energon now, drawing random little patterns with his tongue, moving down into Cosmos' belly, into his crotch-

Finally, Cosmos overloaded with a loud yelp and a quick jerk of his hips. Tracks, jittery with excitement and too much energon, took out a cleaning rag and wiped off the remaining energon. Cosmos took his hand and squeezed it. “Are you going to overload, Tracks?”

“Mm... maybe later.” Tracks clambered off the berth and stretched. “I need to go for a quick drive and get the energy out of my systems. Do you need to take a nap?”

“Mm-hmm. Should I leave?”

“Oh good heavens, no!” Tracks softly patted Cosmos' head. “You stay here as long as y- Cosmos? Cosm- oh.” 

Recharging already. Track shrugged and left his room, strides long and confident.

Sunstreaker squeezed out his overload just as he saw Cosmos arch up. He, after a few failed attempts to force a few bots to be his new best friend really really fast, had wound up banished to monitor duty for the rest of the week. Bored, he had found Red Alert's security override codes for the security cameras in the private rooms. (Apparently, Inferno needed the codes for his turn as emergency security director, and had never remembered to delete them.) A wild hunch told him to tune into Track's room, and Sunstreaker spent the rest of the hour working himself over to Tracks lavishing attention on the pudgy little shuttle. His bet was lost. He would have to get together some of his overnight supplies to move into Track's room whenever he had the time. 

But first, he needed a few comfort hours with Sideswipe.


End file.
